I've recently become a huge fan of Jenna Woginrich from
Cold Antler Farm (review of one of her books
Made from Scratch soon to follow) and have been reading threw the archives of her blog one month at a time. In her archives I came across the post "
The Animals we Choose" and feel compelled to write my own post in the defense of cats.
Admittedly I'm a cat person, but I'm also a fan of dogs and feel a real house should have both; I grew up with both and my sister is my counter part: the dog person who's also a fan of cats. Different people are drawn to different animals, just as we're drawn to certain personality types of humans more than others; thus how deeply we're attached to our particular animals of choice depends on who we are, and who the the animal is both of species and of personality.
Yes, anyone can feed the cats and be appreciated for doing so; but that doesn't mean the cats don't take it personally if we're gone. Upon returning from a trip Lucy will sit just within view with her back turned, checking to make sure that we have noticed that we are being ignored (and will likely make a mess of something unless we keep attempting to give her attention intermediately for about an hour, until forgiveness is finally given) while Kalib will sit on my bags (preferably in them if open) hoping to be packed should we leave again.
Since Lucy is really Paul's cat I can't tell you overly of her personality, some cats will show affection to those other than their owner (including Lucy) but they only show true love to their "person/people" and to Lucy I am "that other woman" who she eventually came to tolerate; for indeed she will only cuddle with me if Paul is not in the room, preferably not at home. So I will give you a brief history of my cats.
My mother's cat Hildy, was part of the family before my father was. One night my father woke my ill mother from her resting place to tell her to go to bed, when really he should have left her asleep were she was. This caused her symptoms to increase before she was able to get back to sleep. That night, Hildy wouldn't let him near my mother; full claw and a teeth attacks like a wild cat "you already messed it up once, leave her to me!"
Hildy did not take to my father, tolerated my sister and showed her some affection, but adored my mother and myself. While my father would have to use a towel to move the cat to keep himself from being sliced to ribbons, I as a toddler stuck her in the tub and poured tables spoons of water over her with nothing more than howls of displeasure and desperation. Sometimes Hildy would sleep with me, and sometimes I would kick her out because she would keep me awake. I have a clear memory when I was four of ignoring her ongoing pleas to be let into my room one night... she eventually gave up and went to my sisters bed, where she died later that morning.
The next year, when our new house came with a mouse we went to the Vancouver's "Cat House" to get a new cat. This is a house filled with very strange cat ladies (this coming from an admitted crazy cat lady) who insisted that I at age five was too young to keep a cat. They had a new addition to the house, who hated being there, would only come out to eat when none of them were around, and otherwise hid the entire time except to beat up the other cats who would try to befriend her. While the crazy cat ladies argued with my parents I got down on my knees and called to the cat hiding under the chair. Out Gracie came, and sat right in my lap; the crazy cat ladies agreed that we could have "that-one".
Quite affectionate to our whole family Gracie was my Nanna (like the dog in Peter Pan) playing with me, sleeping with me (most nights) and otherwise keeping her eye on me. Gracie tolerated the multiple dogs our house hold saw in her life time, even making friends with the miniature poodle. She tolerated the other cats brought into the house, and would take them under her wing when something about their understanding of the world was amiss (such as my sisters cat thinking he was a dog, waging his tail when he was happy and attempting to bark). She love watermelon juice, the milk from Corn Pops (which you couldn't eat sitting down with her in the room) and took her tea with cream and two sugars in a tulip bowl less you want yours knocked over thank you very much! In her hay-day she ruled the neighborhood cats, leading strikes on the raccoon babies while the parents were hunting. As Gracie would walk down the streets you would see other cats move out of her way from a combination of fear and respect. When I moved out, and we decided Gracie was too old to move to Seattle, she shunned me, refusing that last cuddle before I left, and snubbed me during each visit home until her death.
Hemish was the kitten who found us; my sister opened the door and in he walked as if saying "hello, I'm ready for dinner now". After two weeks of bonding with this kitten who had taken to sleeping on my hair we found his owner. After a day of calling Hemish by his original name "Chilly" he went back to his owner for the night; who called us in the morning "he and I talked it over, and he's happier with you." After that, Hemish would panic if you called him Chilly "No! I'm not going back!" Hemish was the best cat to sleep with, if he wanted attention in the middle of the night, he would let out one tinny quiet meow, and if you didn't stir he snuggle up and go back to sleep. Three months later Hemish's litter mate (who ran away at the same time he did) was found, and as the owner now lived in an apartment she could keep him. When Kalib came out of the kennel Hermish marched up, gave him one good smack across the face as if to say "Moron, I told you I knew where I was going!" and then showed Kalib around the place.
Hemish had an A-Type personality. He would panic if there was a closed door between us, and would spend three hours working our 1906 antique doors until they would finally give and open (I never figured out exactly how he managed that) ; he would stand onto the sliding screen door, dig his claws in, and lean to the side until he could let himself out; he would jump from the third story windows run down the first two stories of the house and leap the last story to ground (leaving Kalib half way out the window "I'm sorry man, I just can't do it!"), climbing a tree and jumping onto the side roof to get back in through a different window. Although a devastating shock, it wasn't a big surprise when Hemish was hit by a car.
A passerby who had just lot his own cat to similar circumstances stopped and read his tag, and came to door to give us the news. Kalib shaking from the shock came to the door with him; I do not know if Kalib saw Hemish die, but I know he saw the body. For the next fortnight Kalib would walk the halls and randomly start crying (yes, cats can cry) until either Paul or I would pick him up and hold him for a while. Up to that point Kalib and I hadn't particularly bonded, he was Hemish's cat (sometimes that one being a cat bonds with isn't a human, my sister has a cat who's being is the dog); but over our joint tears of sorrow we bonded deeply.
Kalib didn't bath like other cats, everyday Hemish would beat him up and bath him at the same time. So when Hemish died, Kalib didn't know how to clean himself. I told him he had one more week to figure it out before we started having weekly baths. Gracie heard the "B" word took him aside, and started clear "do as I do" style bathing lesson.
Having been constantly beaten up by his brother, Kalib is a bit of a masochists. Paul plays with him ruff, and to any viewer it looks like the cat hates it, but Kalib will actually come and wine at Paul's feet, continuing to wine after receiving pets, until finally lightly tortured (held upside down agents his will, forced to walk on the ceiling, chased around the house etc). When Paul went to Europe for two months Kalib wined constantly until after a week my best friend Hillary took it upon herself to be him Dom.
Kalib loves my knitting addiction, not the projects I'm making but the yarn strand unwinding besides me, he needs the opportunity for but one bite and I have another end to weave in (not a-frelling-gain... frelling cat has it down to a frelling science... ). Magically, Kalib knows the difference between a random project, and a prayer project. Those shawls and blankets and baby gowns that I pray into while I knit, Kalib lays on while I'm knitting them, and ever so gently (claws retracted) kneeds and purrs into the item. I've used the same yarn on other project, and made blankets and baby items I haven't prayed into and he has no interest in those items (just the yarn strand), but Kalib blesses each and every knitted projects I pray into while making. (If you have ever received one of my prayer items and wonder why in the card there is a drawing of a paw print next to my name, that's why.)
Kalib is one of those cats that loves pets but HATS to sit on your lap; but there is one exception to his rule... if you're sick Kalib will sit in your lap all day and sleep. Once, when I was having a bad reaction to some antibiotics I started hyperventilating from the extreme nausea. Terrified, Kalib started screaming, trying to get Paul's attention from the other room, but refused to leave me alone. I know he was calling for Paul from the way he would tilt his head around me to direct the scream, and strain to look around the corner to see if Paul was coming.
Now I didn't bond deeply with every cat that came into the house. We used to call Jacob "the roommate"; he lived with us because he had no where else to go, but he was never truly happy with us. I don't think I would have bonded with Kalib without Hemish's untimely death, and although Mave and I got along well she was clearly mum's cat. Not all cats who have lived with us have been part of the family.
Cats aren't necessarily happy to see new faces, and frequently they are picky about who they bond to. I suspect Jenna that you have never really bonded with a cat; which is why you don't know that they can be just as much a part of your family as your dogs, just as loving and devoted. I hope at some point you get that opportunity, just as I hope to deep bond with the dog we're sure to get once we settle down post Paul's training.
